


L'après-midi d'un cheval

by fawatson



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: Alexander, Hephaistion, and Bagoas enjoy a brief hiatus during the Indian campaign.





	L'après-midi d'un cheval

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gentlezombie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/gifts).



> **Request:** Romance, love, undying friendship, brothers in arms - these would all be great things. _The Persian Boy_ is my favourite book; I'd like something set during book two, because I really like Bagoas and his point of view.... I always loved Bagoas' dancing, it was clearly a Thing. I would also love it if Alexander took up the kithara again and maybe sang. Does he still do it in the wild, passionate manner his father despised, or has something changed? It was so sad to see him give it all up. Alexander/Hephaistion: Please let them bone. I was supposed to be more eloquent than that. I really am, and I do wish their relationship to include all the love and trust and intricacy that is in the books, but I spent the whole first book as frustrated as Hephaistion.... In the second book, I love it how comfortable Alexander and Hephaistion are with each other.... A threesome of awesome: In the canon, Hephaistion and Bagoas come to a kind of understanding. I'd love for that to develop into something more. If you can make Alexander/Hephaistion/Bagoas work, I'd absolutely love it. I mean, haven't they all got something in common already? I don't want anyone to take advantage of Bagoas, however. Any relationship, even if it's out of the ordinary, should be mutual.
> 
>  **Author’s Notes:** 1\. Boukephalos dies in chapter 21 of _The Persian Boy_ shortly before the Battle of Hydaspes. 2. The askaulos is the Ancient Greek bagpipe, or flute with ‘wineskin’.
> 
>  **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to my sister for beta-reading. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

It was a quiet day, a rare day of precious respite, when ceremony could be dispensed with, when nothing was pressing or urgent, or even necessary. The great battle had been won. Poros had sworn loyalty, mutually sworn by Alexander who now honoured him as a vassal king. The victory games had been held. Orders had been issued to draw up plans for the building of two new cities. Alexander would take keen interest in those plans once they were presented. But in the meantime, he could only wait – somewhat impatiently as was his nature, but resignedly because he was no architect himself and knew well enough to leave them alone while they worked. Soon there would be a new campaign – but not right now. 

This was my day to organise. I slipped into the Great King’s tent after Alexander had exited for his daily weapons practice. He would undoubtedly follow this with a camp inspection, before he headed back for his bath. I should have sufficient time for my preparations. First, I stripped his bed of the soiled linens and sent them, along with yesterday’s tunic with a squire to wash. Another squire I sent for cans of hot water while I selected musk and a fine olive oil scented with myrrh to use for my lord’s bath when he returned. A third squire was ordered to sharpen his hunting knife and spears. I laid Alexander’s red tunic across his bed before conferring with Hephaistion’s squires about their preparations. All must be perfect.

Alexander returned in fine spirits, having thrown Perdikkas arse over shoulder when wrestling and bested Ptolemy at javelins. I noted two new bruises staining his left shoulder and upper arm as I sponged him. He always had a bruise of some kind. Once I had clucked dismay at each new one, but always he had laughed at me and now I no longer remarked them out loud. They were not blemishes to him but the adornments any warrior would sport. I left him soaking while I went to check on the rest of my plans.

I returned to find Hephaistion holding the towel outstretched as Alexander rose from his bath. He ceded place to me but sat watching while I rubbed my lord’s back dry, applied rosemary salve to the bruises, handed him a loin cloth, and held out his tunic. His eyes glittered with an appreciation which I knew mirrored my own. 

By midday we rode out from camp, heading toward the northern hills which rose a little way from the river Hydaspes, and were the reason the riverbed narrowed so it ran deep and fast hereabouts. Accompanying us was a select group from the Companions: Peukestas, Krateros and Leonnatos joining Hephaistion, Alexander and me. Perdikkas remained in camp with Meleager; both were fascinated by Poros’ elephants and were watching the mahouts practice manoeuvres. Ptolemy had chosen to escort Thais to the market town nearby. We were after deer, which were no easy feat to find given the depredations of the army. We had remained here over-long in our campaign against Poros and local resources were becoming depleted. 

Luck favoured Alexander as always, though, and the hunting hounds found a scent quickly. In the end four fine beasts were run to ground and despatched. One was a doe pulled down by the largest of the dogs whose bite severed the tendons of her left hind leg so she could not flee. Her young fawn circled round and returned for her, called by her squeals of terror and pain. Alexander slit her throat quickly and, calling off the dogs, personally tracked the fawn as he hid in the bushes. Alexander said it was shame as he would have let the doe go had she not been crippled, but there was no alternative. The fawn would not manage without its mother and it was kinder to kill it now than leave it to suffer. 

One haunch was cut off the largest buck and squires and servants were sent back to the army encampment with the rest, while the Companions relaxed. Hephaistion’s squire built a fire and tended the venison on the spit while I brought out hampers of bread, olives, dates, figs and a variety of banana new and exotic to my eyes, but common to this region. These times, when my lord could put aside his responsibilities and simply enjoy the company of his closest friends were increasingly rare – especially on campaign. Krateros, normally fierce, played the clown, play-acting the way he had when my lord had been scouting for a ford across the Hydaspes, and he had pretended he was the Great King holding Court, covering for Alexander’s absence from the main camp on forays. 

“None of which could have been done without the help of Bagoas,” he said, giving me an exaggerated bow, “who raided your wardrobe for me.” 

“Ah,” replied Alexander, laughing, “then that is why I found my best tunics all stretched out of shape on my return.”

They toasted one another’s exploits. First Hephaistion toasted the cavalry charge Alexander himself had led. Alexander reciprocated by toasting the second charge Hephaistion had brought from the rear. 

“Worthy of Alexander himself,” pronounced Leonnatos. 

As the flagons of wine and rough-cut slices of roast deer were consumed, they called for music. Hephaistion’s squire brought out a kithara to accompany their songs, more raucous and loud than tuneful. When they tired, I sang; and I fancy my own voice – which Alexander always likened to the aulos – complemented the kithara better than their rough soldier’s voices ever did. Finally, Peukestas called for a dance. I was no dancing slave-girl to be commanded by him; but I had expected this and come prepared so I looked to my lord, who nodded gravely. 

In the uncertain privacy of the shrubbery, my tunic was changed for costume, all black with feathery bits sown on the bottom of the legs, and a long flowing tail that started at the top of my buttocks and reached to the ground. My head was adorned with a horse-shaped mask with a white star on the forehead and long black feathers that formed a mane that fell down my back. It had taken some practice, I tell you, to learn how to balance it properly, and not to trip over that tail. But the look on my lord’s face when I emerged from behind an oleander and he first saw me was my reward.

And so I danced that special tribute for the first and last time. Telling the story of one courageous stallion with fire in his heart who shied and whinnied and reared up. I leapt and twisted and kicked athletically to show the quality of this horse. All watching knew well the story of how Alexander mastered Boukephalos. The Companions sighed as one when the squire’s playing slowed and my dancing calmed, with fluid, sinuous moves as I bent knee, showing a horse’s recognition of his true master. Involuntarily, Alexander’s arm stretched and his hand fondled my forelock and stroked along my tail. I inclined my head to nuzzle him before leaping away to continue my dance, depicting Boukephalos’ bravery in battle over and over through giant leaps and somersaults, before, once again, the music, and I with it, gentled and slowed, displaying the horse in his twilight years before I sank in front of my lord, artistically draped my tail across my torso and laid my head on his knee. There was a moment of utter stillness as the music ended, before the Companions erupted in shouts and Alexander bent to kiss my cheeks. His own were wet with tears. 

The afternoon had lost its brightness and the faintest streaks of pink could be seen on the horizon as we made our way back to camp. We had to pick our way carefully; and, after one of the ponies stumbled and came up lame, I redistributed the packs, and let the others go ahead while I coaxed him down the hill path. 

Alexander dined with King Poros that evening, with a handful of his closest and most trusted friends. As was often the case when he had matters of strategy to discuss, he had spared the drink and planned to retire early. He was on campaign, and no matter that we were resting between battles, it was his way to gather all his strength before his next hard task. He would forgive his men their revelry, understood it was a release they needed. He would not tolerate it in himself. This was a time to build stamina for what would come next as he planned to push eastward to the ends of the Earth as soon as could be. I understood that. 

Hephaistion followed him into the royal tent, providing a calm contrast to my lord’s bright-eyed enthusiasm. I would have left, but Hephaistion silently directed me to stay. 

“That shoulder is bothering you, Alexander,” he said. “Let Bagoas massage out its stiffness.” 

He looked quizzically at his friend, then at me, quietly waiting, shook his head and shrugged, let drop his tunic and stretched out on the bed, head to one side, eyes closed, but every one of his senses alert. 

I selected cassia-scented oil and leaned over him, smoothing it into Alexander’s skin with light strokes before I began to knead his taut muscles, loosening them. Soft notes sounded and I looked round to see Hephaistion seated on a stool, the kithara his squire had used earlier balanced on his knee. When I had shifted burdens from one pack horse to another it had become mixed up with Alexander’s belongings. I had meant to return the instrument earlier but forgotten. Now Hephaistion plucked its strings. I had had no idea he knew how to play and said so. 

“All highborn Greek men learn it a little,” he said. “But if you want _real_ playing you need look no further than your master.” 

Alexander rolled over suddenly, swung his legs round, and reached over to grab the instrument from Hephaistion’s hands. 

“Play a _very_ little,” he retorted. 

“You know I have more skill at the aulos.” 

“Especially the askaulos,” retorted Alexander as he settled the kithara on his own lap and bent to retune it. 

To my amazement he began to play and the instrument which had made simple polite sounds at Hephaistion’s hands now began to sing with joy. And as Hephaistion sat down behind him and pulled Alexander back into his arms, the music swelled with passion and compelling beauty. Alexander’s eyes beseeched, and I swayed and began to dance, drawn by not only his unspoken request but by the admiration in Hephaistion’s eyes, as he looked straight into mine while he bent to kiss Alexander’s shoulder and rub his cheek against my lord's neck. I watched and danced for their pleasure while they watched and embraced…until their passion expanded to include me. 

The next morning Alexander rose before either of us and by late morning 45,000 men were on the move east toward Sangala.


End file.
